"Hey man, have you seen the- HEY! You hearin' me?”

Trying to flag down the veteran mechanic was almost impossible with his welder's headgear on.

That, or he was just purposely ignoring my calls.

Or he's so laser-focused that he really didn't hear me.

Haven't actually been around long enough to get a good reading on him.

The intense light and sparks gushing from the arc-welding made it impossible to stand too close or even look that way, so the next best thing I could do was wait.

Once the current electrode was consumed and he turned to replace it, examining the welding point, I walked up to him, waving again. It was only when he spun around to look for another electrode that he noticed me standing there.

"Hey, uh...Thomas, was it? Have you seen where they put the filler fluid, for...uh...” I felt my voice trailing off along with my train of thought when he took off his helmet and looked up my way. I've never actually seen his face before, the slicked back, fiery red hair, and those golden eyes with a piercing gaze, like he could weld plates of metal together just by staring at them.

Just...Woah.

"You want something?” his smooth, oddly chill voice snapped me out of some sort of trance.

To be frank, I forgot what I needed, but didn't want to come off as an idiot.

Luckily, I may have never seen his face before, but I sure heard quite a lot about him.

"You, uh...Looking really in the zone there.” I try to lighten the mood, mostly for myself. Thomas was eyeing me coldly, unblinking. Or was he? Didn't really notice.

Seeing as he kept silently staring, I cleared the embarrassment out of my throat. “Thinking about that smoke break?”

"I am now.” Thomas stood up and took off his helmet, setting his arc-welder aside. “Charles! I'm out on my break!” he called into the shop.

The voice that answered from that direction was hoarse and a little nasally. “Fine, lad! Just don't ya burn another canister!” the boss called back, and I saw Thomas shrug and heading out to the alley behind the shop, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pockets.

"You smoke, kid?” He asked as he passed by me.

I frown at being called 'kid', but nod anyway. Not that I smoke too often, but it was a good opportunity to befriend the more experienced employees.

He throws me one cigarette out of his pack, gesturing for me to follow him out. “Consider this a welcoming gift.” he said through his teeth after sticking one between them, bringing his hands closer to his face to shield the lighter's flame from the breeze outside. Oddly enough, he kept his black gloves on, even though it wasn't really cold out. At all.

Thomas takes a long drag of his cigarette and throws his lighter at me, seeing as I was patting down my overalls at a loss.

He leans against the nearest wall, exhaling the smoke while watching my pathetic fumbling as I struggle to get a grip on the miniature, flammable container. “Keep it.” he offers and takes another drag.

"Ah...thanks.” slipping the lighter into one of my pockets, I take a seat next to Thomas on a metal barrel of...something, relieved that it was sturdy enough to carry my weight.

Despite the welder staring off into the distance, shrouded in an air of mystery and aloofness, I tried to make small talk anyway.

"So, Thomas...?” I linger, hoping he'd answer with his last name.

"You got it.”

Great. “Um...How old are you?”

"Thirty-something.”

"Worked here for...?”

"A while.”

Well, he's clearly wasn't going to play along.

I inhale the smoke from my own cigarette and let it out with a sigh, taking out my phone to check the news.

The first headline made me shudder...

"Serial Arsonist Still on the Loose!”

“Charred remains of an unknown body found near an abandoned warehouse where a fire broke out.”

"Holy sh-” I stop myself, coughing. The hot smoke suddenly burned, more like embers. “That's...not far from here...”

"What is?” Thomas suddenly showed interest.

Holding up my phone, I let him read the headline and whatever of the first paragraph the screen displayed. His expression remained unchanged.

"Yeah, it is pretty close by...” he seemed to have lost interest again, leaning back against the wall and puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"Wha- Someone died! Murdered! BURNED!”

"Yeah, someone.” he emphasized, unfazed.

"Don't you care, even a little?” I stare in disbelief. “I mean, this person had a family, friends, I bet they're devastated...”

"Still, just one dead person.”

"It's not just one,” I protest at his indifference. “There were at least five more cases attributed to the same arsonist-”

"That's how anything 'serial' works.”

"B-but...I-I mean...” ugh, this guy makes me feel like an idiot. “It's kinda scary, knowing there's a serial killer around...”

"Not really,” my heart skips a beat when Thomas stops to take another drag. “This case makes the sixth, right? When was the first one?”

"Oh, uh...” I realize he assumed I knew the dates of the other incidents. I quickly scroll through the article. “It says...the first one was about half a year ago...”

"So that's six months. One victim per month.” Quick, simple math. “How many people are in this city?”

"I dunno...” I shrug, trying to take another shot at my cig to lessen the awkwardness, coughing again. That worked well. “Couple of millions?”

"Sounds about right. So six people out of around, what? Two million?” he raised an eyebrow. “You'd have better odds of dying here than by the hands of a serial killer.”

Left speechless, I stared up at him again. His cold-cut logic made every bit of sense, and his deadpan deliverance was spine chilling.

"Besides, since it's a serial killer, they probably have a profile you'd have to fit to be a victim.” he threw another fact, so nonchalantly that it took me a moment to realize how grim it was. He noticed the silence and looked my way again. “Don't tell me you've never watched a crime show in your life. It's one of the basics of profiling serial killers.”

I blink, embarrassed. “Y-yeah...crime shows...”

Thomas smiled, eyes half-lidded, and tapped his cigarette, flicking the ashes to the ground. “You thought-”

"No-no-no!” I scramble off of the barrel, dropping my phone and welcoming present. “O-of course not, I-I would n-never...”

As I stammer my awkwardness away, Thomas just stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, watching me puzzled, as if trying to figure out why I was being so fidgety.

"I'm not doing myself any justice, am I?” I look away, picking up my phone, seeing him shaking his head in the corner of my eye.

After a couple more long drags he throws out what's left of the butt and turns back to the shop. “Nice chatting with you, kid.” he waved before stepping in and donning his protective gear.

Well, that went better than expected.

It's been a month, fixin' cars, bumping dents, changing oils...

I don't really know if I ever expected anything remotely exciting out of this, but it passes the time, pays the bills. Just your average, daily routine.

Got to know more of the workforce by now, and most of them were really surprised that Thomas was the first one I decided to try and get to know better. Some were surprised I had the guts to even approach him.

Apparently he tends to drive people away, never initiates any small talk, going through his work day between one smoke break to another, and generally being the least social person around.

To be completely honest, I was almost flattered to have gotten to chat with him, since it was deemed such a non-achievable act. Or an unwanted one, according to some pity stares I got when bringing this up.

Whatever. Didn't really get to talk to him more than that anyway. Joined him on two other smoke breaks and haven't said a word other than thanking him for letting me keep his lighter, to which he dismissively shrugged.

But it was still nice to have a smoke with someone else. Not that the other employees bothered starting a conversation with a newbie as myself.

As things got busier around, I had to pick up the pace myself and didn't have time to hang around anyway. Nothing more than brief chit-chat, having being assigned to mostly menial errands.

Things turned to a day-in-day-out routine.

Mostly since the shop was closed at night.

Unless...

"I need ya tah close 'er up after a good clean.” Charles came up to me later in that shift. “Yer not busy, are ya? I'll get the boys tah help ya out for as long as they can stay, but yer be closing shop.”

I really didn't want to, but I had not excuse. "Oh, I mean...If everyone else is busy...”

"I'll pay ya overtime. How's that sound, kid?”

Again with the 'kid' thing...But money's money. “Uh, sure. Deal. How hard can it be, right?”

"There's the spirit!” he smacked my shoulder, slamming the keys in my hand.

Grateful that he didn't seem bothered by the nervous cackle I responded with, Charles turned around to his business, leaving me to my own.

As evening rolled around, everyone made an effort to tidy up their own area, then the rest of the place. Charles never told me why, but I assumed there's some inspection coming up tomorrow. Glad I wasn't working that day.

The shop was admittedly nicer when everything was quieter and there was no rush to do anything. No more than my rush to get home.

Once the shop was spick and span, I put all the tools away and locked the place off, taking a walk there since it wasn't far.

I could count the streetlights to my place already, almost hopping between them.

One...

Two...

Thr-...

The next thing the exploded into my mind was seething pain the pulsated at the back of my head, and the sharp, strong scent of petrol, like it was coming from...my...

"Hello, lucky seven.”

I could barely hear the words over the throbbing pain bolting from one temple to another.

Seven?

What in the-

Wait...

While my brain was trying to catch up on my surroundings, a dark silhouette loomed over me, dotted with two, golden spots.

"Aren't petrol fumes just...Intoxicating?” the voice hummed, and I felt a gloved hand grabbing the sides of my face, forcing my jaws open, sticking a metal bar between my teeth. The metallic taste and cold material were a sickening combination.

It was only when he leaned closer and the fiery red hair came into view in the dim light of...wherever we were, that I recognized Thomas, donning his trademark charming smile. If it wasn't for the pain in my head and me gagging on a metal bar, I could think he's flirting with me.

I held my breath, frozen in dread. The fact that every single movement hurt didn't really motivate me to move neither.

"Do you know what else I learned in crime shows? That dental records are an incredibly fast way to recognize an unidentifiable corpse.” he shared, as if we were on another smoke break. What would dental records have to do with anything right n-

My teetering train of thought came to a screeching halt when Thomas sat up, retreating back into the shadows. Even though he released my jaw, the metal bar was lodged so tight between my jaws that it just stuck there.

He re-positioned himself and dealt a swift strike to the bottom of my chin with the underside of his palm.

A jolt of pain so strong it almost made me pass out surged through my entire body as I could vividly hear my teeth shatter and jaw crack.

I tried to scream – not even knowing where we are or if someone could hear me – but the bar trapped it in my throat, that soon felt warm and irritated. I cough, spouting out blood and pieces of teeth.

Thomas' excitement was surprisingly contained but it was there. In his smile turned to a smirk; in the glint in his eyes.

That's the least I was able to see, pain and fumes blurring my vision.

"Oh, don't black out just yet.” he leaned to pat the side of my face, and even that light touch sent signals of pain that did cause my vision to briefly falter. He waited patiently for me to come to before taking the bar out of my mouth. The broken pieces of bones and enamel were grinding loudly in my ears, sending tremors down my spine.

Even without the metal bar, my shattered jaws hanged limply, leaving my mouth slightly agape. I try to move it, mouthing the essence of all the questions burning within me between one pulse of pain to another.

Why?

Is this really what I get for trying to be a nice person?

Thomas shrugs and balances the metal bar on my throat. I can't even move my head around to wriggle it off.

I feel him running his hand down the side of my body and it made me shiver. Thomas reached into one of my pockets and takes out a lighter – the same one he gave me. “Thanks for holding onto this.” he sounded oddly genuine, again, as if we were in a normal, everyday setting.

He stood up and went to grab something out of my view, but as soon as my consciousness started to fade away I was doused with a foul smelling liquid that quickly burned my airways and an involuntary cough almost dislodged my mangled jaw.

I've been in the shop enough to recognize gasoline and motor oil in my sleep.

Through irritated eyes, I could see a flick of a flame, and my heart starts racing.

"Well, look at that – you thought right.” He mused and stepped back, pinning the open flame to the trail of pungent fuel.

Flames engulfed my body in a flash; the metal bar soon heated up, slowly burning through the skin and flesh of my neck, making breathing even harder.

Experiencing excruciating pain that I never knew was possible to feel and stay awake, nor did I ever think I'd experience, I force myself to look to the side.

Through blazing inferno, I see the man who at this point may very well be the devil incarnate, standing just a few steps away from the blaze, admiring his work.

Gold and orange fill my entire vision as the pain slowly subsides with the fire eating away at my nervous system.

Doomed from the very beginning, I give into the scorching head. The gold darkens and the orange swirls into oblivion, and the last thing I can still see was those golden eyes of a satisfied predator.

"Serial Arsonist Strikes Again!”

"In just a little over a month, another burned corpse was found at the dock this morning. The body, burned to a crisp, has yet to be identified due to lack of either comparable features as well as having their teeth mangled. Authorities advise citizens to take extreme caution while walking outside at night and remain alert.”

A man in his early thirties sat down at his balcony, looking through the news on his phone, ashing a cigarette into an ashtray on a table next to him. Next to the ashtray were a pair of black gloves and a box of matches.

He took a particular interest in the main headline.

"A serial killer, huh?” he brought the cigarette to his mouth again, taking a long, slow drag.

"Oh my,” he released the air just as slowly, savoring the smoky flavor.

"How scary.”